


but there wasn't any water in the wishing well

by orphan_account



Category: 9-1-1 (TV)
Genre: A lot of Angst tho, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode: s03e15 Eddie Begins, Gen, M/M, blame 12 yrs of catholic schooling for that one folks, coda to eddie begins, heavy handed use of religious imagery, i honestly don't know how to tag this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-20
Updated: 2020-05-20
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:00:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24280954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Here is the horrible truth of it, cover to cover: For two years, Evan Buckley’s world has started and stopped with his best friend. But then Edmundo Diaz disappeared one cold night under thirty feet of frozen mud, and the world, in an act of unspeakable cruelty, turned on.
Relationships: Evan "Buck" Buckley/Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 189





	but there wasn't any water in the wishing well

Here is the horrible truth of it, cover to cover: For two years, Evan Buckley’s world has started and stopped with his best friend. But then Edmundo Diaz disappeared one cold night under thirty feet of frozen mud, and the world, in an act of unspeakable cruelty, turned on. 

Buck isn’t particularly religious. Hell, half-delirious, leg crushed under the weight of a thousand pounds, he never thought to offer up a prayer to whatever deity may or may not exist for help. But in the two years of revolving around the bright sun of _Eddie_ , he has been roped into attending Sunday mass with the extended Diaz family often enough that he knew all the prayers, and could mumble along, one hand on Chris’ bowed neck, “Ave Maria, gratia plena..” 

“Dominus tecum.” There is stinging rain beating down on him, getting in the crevices between his helmet and his jacket and soaking him, and Buck is vaguely aware of the mud seeping into every inch of exposed skin, under his nails, in his hair, as he digs, and digs, and digs. 

If he listens intent enough, drowns out the sirens and the yelling and whispering, he swears he can hear Eddie’s hoarse cries for help. 

So he digs. And he prays, “Benedicta tu, in mulieribus-” 

_Please,_ he thinks, _please. Sancta Maria, Mater Dei, get him out safe._ He thinks of Eddie in the locker room, head bent over, thumb rubbing the small medal he keeps in his pocket. _If_ _you have to take someone, take me._

_Please._

“Buck,” Someone grunts- he’s being pulled back, and panic rises in his throat faster than rainwater is rising in the well. Buck throws an elbow back wildly, but it meets resistance, and he’s dragged back further and further until he falls backwards, and Bobby is pulling him down, a gloved hand on his cheek. 

Someone is screaming, loud, rough, desperate, and it takes Buck a minute, head in Bobby’s lap, frozen tears spilling onto his cheeks, to realize that it’s him. 

* * *

Here’s how it goes: Buck is a lost, arrogant, twenty-six year old, throwing himself headlong into every danger that crosses his path to prove to someone, _anyone,_ that he’s not useless, he’s not worth abandoning, until Edmundo Diaz shows up at the station. 

He’s a couple inches shorter than Buck, but stands tall with a quiet confidence that reeks of competence, self-assured cool-headedness that doesn’t need boasting about. Hen and Chim accept him readily, don't plan one act of hazing, and Bobby comments on how he fought to get him assigned to the station, and a flare of red-hot jealousy ignites in Buck’s stomach. He’s everything Buck is not. 

For a few hours, Buck is caught in a one-sided rivalry- bench more than him, volunteer for more dangerous stunts, be more helpful to Bobby, until they’re caught in an ambulance with live ordinance, and Eddie disarms it without so much as a hint of bravado. 

He places the grenade in the box, they get the patient out safe, and Eddie whips around, gives Buck a blinding grin that takes up his entire face, and every atom of envy inside of him is gone in a thousand small nuclear explosions. 

“You can have my back any day,” Eddie says, claps him on the exposed skin of his neck, and his touch jolts electricity down Buck’s spine. 

“Or, you know, you could have mine,” Buck retorts. 

In every chapter that proceeds from that one, Buck is no longer dangling himself between a rock and sword, waiting for it to inevitably fall and impale him so that at least the papers will remember him as worthwhile. Instead, he’s got Eddie on the other end of the rope, shouting half-affectionate insults in Spanish he thinks Buck can’t understand as he pulls him back onto solid ground. 

* * *

Bobby had gotten him up eventually, directed him to get some water, pull himself together. He ignores that but disappears for a few minutes so he won’t get yelled at. He finds Bobby in a doorway and stops him, explains his plan to rescue Eddie. 

The look on Bobby’s face is familiar in a way that tugs on Buck’s frayed nerves. It’s the face he wears consoling loved ones of someone they just can’t rescue- you can’t save everyone, though you have to try. It’s wide eyes, empathetic, but mouth set into a hard line. 

“Y-you think he’s already dead,” Buck accuses, his own voice breaking in two. “You think he’s gone.” 

“No one thinks that,” Hen says, grasping Buck’s arm tight. “We’re not going to give up.” 

But the minute Buck turns away, he sees Hen share a meaningful look with Chim, and the weight on his shoulder increases tenfold. 

* * *

Christopher Diaz doesn’t look much like his father, all blonde curls and light, freckled skin, but that’s where the dissimilarities end. 

They make the same faces, subtle side-eyes when someone says something dumb, petulantly sticking out a lip to get of out a chore. 

They’re made of the same stuff, all quiet strength and inability to consider something impossible. 

And they both have found their way entirely into Buck’s very soul, and made their homes there. 

It’s not simple to explain. The words don’t come easy. He’s tried to both his sister and his therapist, and left them both times with confused looks on their faces, as they tried to brush it off as a simple crush. 

It wasn’t. It hasn’t been in a long time. 

See, here’s how it goes: one year after Eddie Diaz arrives at the station, just before the truck accident, they take Chris to the Natural History Museum together. 

“He’s a natural-born scientist, my kid’s so smart.” Eddie whispers to Buck proudly, watching his son stare in wonder at the fossilized ferns in front of him. 

“Not much like his dad then, huh?” Buck teases, bumping into Eddie. Their shift yesterday had included some exceptionally reckless heroics, and they’d ended up shoulder to shoulder in Bobby’s office, getting reamed out, like Buck has had happened countless times before. 

Somehow, it’s easier to bear with Eddie by his side. 

Eddie laughs, threatens to soundly beat Buck at the next station trivia night, and wanders towards his son. Buck watches from several feet away as Eddie sweeps him into the air, settles him on his hip, and points out the T-Rex exhibit. Chris says something Buck can’t hear, and Eddie laughs, kisses his son’s forehead. He glances up at Buck, and gestures for him to come over with a small smile on his lips. 

It’s not a scene Buck hasn’t seen countless times before. Movie nights, going out to dinner, school events- Buck has done it all- but something about standing in this crowded museum, watching Eddie and Chris stare up at the remains, knowing he’s wanted- something clicks in Buck’s heart. 

It’s not a lightning-bolt revelation, not accompanied with a sweeping score and a change in the lighting. Just a realization. A quiet understanding. That above all else, there is Eddie, and there is Chris. That a bomb could go off right now, and Buck would gladly cover them with his body if it meant they had a chance at surviving. That they are first, last, and always. 

It doesn’t scare him as much as he thinks it should, and he smiles softly back at Eddie, and goes to join them. 

* * *

It has been two hours since Eddie disappeared, and Buck has stopped talking altogether. 

He is convinced he was buried with Eddie, and it’s now a game of waiting to drown in his own grief, freeze over and be embalmed in the mud. 

He’s alright with it. 

His body is still primed to react to commands, however prepared his brain is to shut down, so when Bobby forces him up, pulls his soaked turnout gear back on, and tells him to go wait outside, he does. 

He’s standing in a crowd of first-responders. Some he recognizes, others are foreign. All are ignoring him in favor of listening to the USAR officer discuss the plan- moving out in concentric circles to find Diaz, geothermal imaging, other things that are flying in one ear and out the other without making the slightest impression on Buck. 

Buck doesn’t know what he’s looking for. What he wants to find. A sudden image- Eddie, cold, pale, covered in mud, unmoving, flashes in his head, and Buck digs his nails into his palms to stop himself from screaming out. 

“That won’t be easy.” 

Eddie’s voice, rough, water-logged, cuts through the fog and suddenly Buck is shaking himself. 

“Eddie?” Bobby says, unbelieving. 

People move, and there he is, as miraculous as a holy relic, half-slumped over, soaked to the bone. 

“I’m pretty cold.” Eddie chokes out as he falls. 

Buck rushes forward, is at his side before he knows anything else. Eddie reaches for him, slings an exhausted arm around his shoulder and nearly collapses into his side. Buck chokes on his sob. He slams his face into the crook of Eddie’s neck and stays there, until he’s sure the pulse he can feel beating against his cheek is real, real, real, and not some malicious daydream cooked up by his grieving brain.

“I’m okay, _cariño,”_ Eddie slurs into his hair. ‘I’m okay, I’m okay,” He pats Buck’s head clumsily, and Buck feels someone pulling him up, hears commands from Bobby to get Eddie to an ambulance, _now._ Buck complies, helps get Eddie to his feet, but can’t stop himself from pulling close to Eddie and pressing their foreheads together, resting one hand on his cold, dirty jaw.

“I’m okay,” Eddie breathes again, low and slow, just for Buck, and it’s as good as an Alleluia at Easter, a quiet prayer of thanksgiving before dinner, a love psalm at a wedding. 

_Thank you._

**Author's Note:**

> this fic brought to you by twelve years of catholic school, a deep love for the song of achilles and the Not Easily Conquered series, listening exclusively to the Oh Hellos and the Lumineers for several weeks, and by viewers like you. Thank you!


End file.
